The Lance of Kanana: A Story of ArabiaFrench, Harry W. (Harry Willard)
History
The Lance of Kanana: A Story of Arabia
French, Harry W. (Harry Willard)
Arabian Peninsula -- History -- Juvenile fiction; Heroes -- Arab countries -- Juvenile fiction
In the height of the rainy season there were even occasional pools of
water in the hollows, here and there. Later there was coarse, tough
grass growing, sometimes for miles along the way.
Little by little, however, they disappeared. Then the green of each
oasis shrank toward the center, about the spring or well, and often
before midsummer was over, they too had dried away.
The prospect of loneliness, however, was not at all disheartening to
Kanana. He had no desire to meet with any one, least of all with such
parties as would be apt to cross the desert at this season.
If a moving shadow appeared in the distance, he turned well to one side
and had the dromedary lie down upon the sand till it passed.
The black dromedary was fresh, and the Bedouin boy knew well how to make
the most of his strength while it lasted; but it was for Allah and
Arabia that they crossed the desert, and Kanana felt that neither his
own life nor that of the dromedary could be accounted of value compared
with the demand for haste.
He paid no heed to the usual camping-grounds for caravans, except to be
sure that he passed two of them every night till the dromedary's
strength began to fail.
Each morning the sun was well upon its way before he halted for the day,
and long before it set again he was following his shadow upon the sand.
More and more the dromedary felt the strain. When twelve nights had
passed, the pride of the caliph was anything but a tempting prize, and
Kanana would hardly have troubled himself to turn out for a caravan even
if he had thought it a band of robbers.
The Bedouin boy, too, was thoroughly worn and exhausted. For days they
had been without water, checking their thirst by chewing the prickly
leaves of the little desert vine that is the last sign of life upon the
drying sand. No dew fell at this season, and Kanana realized that it was
only a matter of hours as to how much longer they could hold out.
Morning came without a sign of water or of life, as far as the eye could
reach.
The sun rose higher, and Kanana longed for the sight of a human being as
intensely as at first he had dreaded it.
Nothing but the ghastly bones of men and animals bleaching among the
sand-shrubs showed him that he was still upon the highway to Bashra.
Out of the glaring silver-gray, the fiery sun sailed into the lusterless
blue of the dry, hot sky, leaving the two separated by the eternal belt
of leaden clouds that never rise above a desert-horizon and never
disperse in rain.
Kanana halted only for his morning prayer, and, when it was finished,
the petition that he added for himself was simply "Water! water! O
Allah! give us water."
Each day the heat had become more intense, and to-day it seemed almost
to burn the very sand. As Kanana mounted again and started on, his tired
eyes sought anxiously the glaring billows for some sign of life; but not
a living thing, no shadow even, broke the fearful monotony.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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